


False Start

by CupidStrikes



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: M/M, Underage Sex, implied sexual intercourse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:31:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupidStrikes/pseuds/CupidStrikes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asch, too, remembers the nightmares, and the burning inadequacy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	False Start

**Author's Note:**

> Written back in June '11.

_It's a shame you don't know  
what you're running from,  
would your bones have to break  
and your lights turn off,  
would it take the end of time  
to hear your heart's false start?_

  
It was a wholly unconventional and unlikely union, and outside of the cocoon of limbs and sheets they both liked to pretend it never happened. Neither took a more pronounced interest in the other's life, both contently doomed in their acceptance of impending death.  
  
Asch wasn't sure what Sync even got out of it, the younger boy always so quiet in the inbetweens, and intensely mewling during the act. Asch is worried he'll hurt him and Sync just implores him for more.  
  
It makes him feel alive, he says, makes him feel wanted. Asch cannot begrudge him that, pities it, and finds companionship in it. It's not love, not as anyone else would define it, but they find something to share in each other's beds. To be desired, needed...  
  
Asch hadn't realised how much he had missed that feeling, and watching Sync experience it for the first time almost cracked his stoic composure.  
  
They share a great many things, they realise. The most poignant, is that both of them have had their lives torn apart by formicry. Asch's by the creation of the replica that has taken everything from him, and Sync's very birth, his existance as a mere replacement leaving him with no fondness for the sanctity of life. It pains Asch to watch; he is not a heartless creature, and he loathes those who use formicry more. He cannot help but trace the burns that marr Sync's body, the boy shivering as he recalls fire and pain beyond words. Asch kisses the places where soft skin meets leathery scar tissue, almost feeling the phantom desperation and fear that radiate from the form below him even now, two years after he crawled out of the fiery pit into a fresh new hell.  
  
Sync refuses to be pitied, spitting curses and insults that remind Asch all too well that Sync is nothing like the innocent, boyish shell he mirrors. He has seen the 'true' replica of Ion, the wide-eyed curiosity and the genuine kindess and goodwill in all his actions, and it makes it hurt more to see Sync engaged in battle, all snarles and fury against his opponents. Asch can't bear to spar with him, despite Sync's insistence. They are unfairly matched, and he's seen the boy beaten, remembers removing the mask to treat a head wound and seeing the fear and hatred in those wide green eyes. The words, too, will haunt him forever, the pleas for forgiveness, and the repetition,  
  
 _"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...I tried..."_  
  
It was all he could do not to forget that Van was watching, ever critical, and just hold the poor thing.  
  
That was the first night Sync had appeared in Asch's room in the dead of night, fingering the hem of his pyjamas and whimpering, barely coherent, in a way that was far unlike the God-General he was supposed to be. Asch, the stern, grumpy Commander, forgives him, and welcomes the smaller boy into his bed, and doesn't mention the wetness he feels on his skin when Sync hides his face in the crook of his neck.  
  
For Asch, too, remembers the nightmares, and the burning inadequacy, and suffered too many nights alone, sleepless and terrified. He holds the boy to his chest, rubbing his back and humming the broken parts of a lullaby from a life that is no longer his. He rests his cheek in Sync's silky hair, blinking moisture from his eyes as he forces himself to recall how his mother, though no longer, did this for him when he had had nightmares as a child.  
  
It feels like a victory when Sync relaxes, the tension sliding out of his little body as he curls into Asch, falling asleep easily. The redhead silently smiles, and almost wishes Van could see, could see that he hadn't sucked the life from him, and swears to Sync he won't let Van do it to him, either.


End file.
